And Therein Lies
by JacksBoonie
Summary: 1x6 This time, there is no hint of lust in his eyes. This time, there is no sexual tension in his actions. This time . . . he is really and truly angry.


AN: Howdy, Kats and Kittens. How's things, eh? Well, I sort of had the beginning of this story typed up and sitting on my computer for who-knows-how-long, and I decided to stay up until the wee hours of th morning to finish . . . just so you could have the pleasure of its company. Hope it is up to snuff, yea?  
Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing. I do not own the characters of Gundam Wing. If I did, I would not be going to college. I would be sitting on my rich, fat ass enjoying gallons upon gallons of New York style Cherry Cheesecake ice cream.

And Therein Lies

He is pushed against the wall, the blonde-haired man pinning him roughly . . . but not in the way that he usually does. This time, there is no hint of lust in his eyes. This time, there is no sexual tension in his actions. This time . . . he is really and truly angry.

"Why?" He seethes through gritted teeth. A single-syllable word that could mean anything. Why does the sun rise? Why does the ocean crash against the shore? Why does the impossible have to exist? All these questions and more could pass through Heero Yuy's head . . . Unfortunately, he knows _exactly_ what this man is asking.

Why had he slept with someone else?

"I . . . I don't know," the young man replies, at a loss for words. But he _does_ know, and if the older pilot could only see why-

"I don't believe you, Yuy," Zechs grinds out, slamming a palm against the flat surface behind Heero's head. "You're lying. Tell me. _Talk to me_." The last words are strained, his tone begging, almost pleading for an answer. Heero's eyes lower to his feet, but Zechs is quick to grab his chin between his thumb and forefinger to snap his head upward so that he cannot look away.

The younger man opens his mouth, but his voice sticks to the back of his throat, and he presses his lips together into a firm, thin line. Pulling from the other's grasp, he evades his position between the man's solid body and his bedroom wall, backing away a few steps.

"Tell me what she did," Zechs demands, turning to face him but making no advance.

Heero straightens, attempting to mask his fear as he says, "What makes you think she did anything?"

"Because I know my own sister, Heero," the older man's shoulders slump as he sighs, wishing that the other pilot would cease to evade the matter, "and, more importantly, I know _you_." Heero winces, looking to the floor.

"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think."

A sharp stinging sensation pierces Zechs' heart as the words are whispered. Though they are false, they carry much damage in their wake.

He knows, of course, that his dearest sister could not threaten them with marring their reputation. Many higher-ups before them had announced their homosexuality. It is not uncommon to find it nowadays. Besides, their relationship is practically public anyway. Those that do not already know, suspect, and those that know _or _suspect do not really seem to care.

They both have their share of skeletons in the closet, but being known world and colony-wide, there are not many secrets that can be kept from the public eye. So what could possibly be bothering Heero Yuy? What could be making him-

"She's dying," Heero blurts, suddenly, gasping into the silence that follows at his own abruptness. They stare at one another for a moment or two, Zechs trying to contemplate the new information.

"Dying?" He manages through tightened vocal chords.

"She . . . She has CML," the younger pilot explains, swallowing audibly, "Chronic Myeloid Leukaemia."

"I don't understand." His voice is small, barely above a hushed whisper. Leukaemia? Cancer? How can this be?

"She needs an heir . . . Someone to carry on the Peacecraft name," Heero continues. "Relena knows about us, and she figures you won't be making plans to have children anytime soon." The words would be amusing . . . if the situation was not so grim. "The disease generally works slowly, but . . . but there's less of a chance that she'll bleed to death during childbirth if she becomes pregnant now." He hurries through the words in one breath, perhaps hoping on non-existent hopes that the fluidity will lessen the blow. It does not.

Zechs falls back into a nearby chair, staring at nothing before placing his head in his hands. How can this be happening? His sister . . . his _baby_ sister, who is supposed to live long after he, himself, is dead. His sister who is supposed to live happily with a husband and several children and be content for many years to come. His sister . . . who now has to choose producing an heir for their bloody family line over life. It simply isn't fair.

"Zechs?" Heero inquires with concern, placing a hand on the man's shaking shoulder.

"Is she planning on seeking treatment?" The sitting pilot asks roughly, his eyes on the verge of overflowing with tears.

"Not until after the birth," Heero responds. "She doesn't want anything to affect the baby."

"Then why doesn't she get treatment now? Why can't she receive what she needs, get better, and _then_ have a baby?" Zechs protests, standing, suddenly, and pacing the small room.

"There are no guarantees that the treatments will work," the other explains quietly, painfully. "And, as I said, she has a better chance of surviving the birth if she conceives as soon as possible."

"And what if the child isn't a boy?" The eldest Peacecraft demands angrily, spinning on his heels and glaring at the younger man. "What if she dies and her only legacy is a girl?"

"She seems to have kept her place in the political arena quite well, Zechs," Heero points out. "Without the help of men, I might add."

Another silence follows, leaving the two to their own thoughts.

"So that's it?" Zechs asks in a defeated tone, his body seeming to lose its regal posture. "There's nothing left to do?"

"I'm afraid not."

_/9 Months Later/_

"The head is crowning. One more push should do it, Miss Peacecraft," the doctor encourages the sweaty, screaming young woman. "Ready? I'm going to ask you to give one big push on this next contraction."

Relena's face is red and dripping from the exertion. Not only is the physical activity exhausting her completely, but the blood loss is becoming increasingly alarming. Heero stands at her side, allowing her to crush his fingers and ignoring the pain, knowing hers is far greater.

"Alright, Miss Peacecraft, on the count of three," the doctor instructs, glancing up at her once to make sure she has received the information. The young queen, too exasperated for words, nods frantically, straining herself as the man counts to three.

"It's a boy," the doctor states happily, a smile apparent on his face even through his surgical mask. Heero cannot help but grin, but as the grip on his hand loosens, he looks back to the young woman to find she has passed out. Suddenly, the heart monitors beside her bed begin to wail, and several nurses rush this way and that, shooing him from her side.

The baby is swiftly carried away to be washed and taken care of while the shrill sounds of alarms continue to echo in the small, bland room. Heero falls into a state of complete stupor, his vision swimming and the noises around him blurring into one.

All too soon, the noises stop, and he shakes his head, ridding his mind of the dizziness. Several pairs of somber eyes stare in his direction as the doctor approaches him slowly.

"I'm . . . very sorry, Mr. Yuy," he says in a small voice, not wanting to stain the silent room with excess words. "There was just too much blood loss . . ." Heero looks dazedly to the body lying on the birthing table, seeing that Relena looks so much smaller than she normally would. Her face has lost all sign of redness, resuming its soft pallor. Had she really only been nineteen? Why does she look so much younger than she really is? She was still a child; a child having a child.

The thought almost makes Heero laugh aloud, but he stops himself, containing his short bout of temporary insanity.

"Did she have a name?"

His gaze is directed towards a young woman, who is now standing where the doctor was. He has probably gone off to explain to Zechs and the other pilots the circumstances that have occured.

"What?"

"For the baby," the nurse explains gently, patiently. "Did she have a name picked out?"

Heero nods numbly, mouthing, "Matthew" when his voice fails him. The woman nods, scribbling the name on the newborn's hospital record and giving him one last sympathetic glance before returning to her duties.

He does not know if it is by his own accord or by the direction of another person, but somehow he finds himself in the hallway, a long, white corridor that stretches for God knows how long with doors every few yards or so.

And then he is one the floor, his knees having collapsed from under him. His back is against the wall, his knuckles resting on the tiled floor, and there are tears welling in his eyes, but he can't seem to stop them from spilling over and down his cheeks, beneath his chin, soaking the hospital scrubs that policy had demanded he wear.

This woman had been no lover, no wife of his. She had been no comfort to him during the nights when his nightmares were the worst, nor had she ever soothed him with gentle words until he fell back asleep. She had never been to war with him, fought side by side on the battle field, watched friends and countless others die needlessly by his very hands.

And now there are voices calling his name, fingers grasping his arms, worried expressions swirling in and out of his vision. Familiar cloudy blue eyes form before him, and he takes in a sharp breath as he focuses on the face of Zechs Merquise. The man's cheeks glisten with still-flowing tears. At least he is not the only one crying.

But this woman had been his friend. She had cooked him breakfast on weekends that she had given the chef off. She had brought him water and cool cloths the time he had been ill with pneumonia and Zechs had been forced to attend Preventer conferences. She had promised him a place of his own as soon as the baby was born, where he and Zechs would be safe from prying media.

And now she is gone. She is not coming back.

"Heero?" Zechs asks quietly, his voice cracking. He crouches before the younger man, the four other pilots crowded around behind him. "Come on, Heero . . . They said we can see the baby."

"Matthew," Heero says in a whisper, and the older man nods with an attempted smile.

"Yes, we can go see Matthew."

Zechs pulls the other man to his feet, squeezing his shoulders before carefully leading him down the hall to the nursery.

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard to any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Well, Kats and Kittens, I hope it wasn't too painful. Think there's any point in continuing? Perhaps Zechs and Heero raising young Matthew?

Right. And about the CML info . . . I don't pretend to be a doctor, but I do live with a nurse (dearest mummy) and I did a bit of quick research on the subject, so if anything seems out of place . . . just pretend it isn't, yea?

Later, Babes! Catch ya on the flip side.


End file.
